Retrograde
by Atheniandream
Summary: "Look in the mirror," She whispers to him, but lower, a warmer sound, her voice a ghost of their complicated past.


Wrote this to Retrograde by James Blake; feel free to listen to it during.

RATED M for Mature themes.

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_**RETROGRADE**__ By Atheniandream_

**_You're on your own_**

**_In a world you've grown_**

He watched her lately, as she watched him right back. Noticing more and more the tension, that ripe burn of torture in him, watching as it burgeoned and grew over the last few months, his eyebrows raised and wire tight against his face as if he was holding it all in. Which he was. It was a pensive strain that he wore more and more these days, for reasons that had almost nothing to do with the job…or their growing firm.

**_Few more years to go_**

**_Don't let the hurdle fall_**

He should have known when she'd come with a date for the Christmas party that it would pick at the lid of his resolve to the point where he couldn't count the victories from the failures any more.

The second strike was her dress; Gucci, gold, flowing and completely backless. From the moment he'd seen the shimmer and the light catch her hair he knew that he was on to a loser having not brought his own distraction for the evening. Mike was firmly ensconced on Rachel. He wasn't surprised; the kid was getting anything he could and who was he to object, good luck to him. Rachel would soon be off to Columbia and then the kid would most likely pine her constant affections at the office. He was a soft touch like that…

Scottie had decided not to attend, which all things considered was probably a good thing. She'd moved what things she'd kept of hers out of his apartment a week ago. Since they had ended things it had put a blanch on them being in the same room, feelings still raw and corners still heavily fought. Donna had tried despite his protests to right their ship, far surpassing her Mother Teresa complex in order to do what she had thought was right until both sides had collapsed and it was just her standing in the middle of an ash covered cloud. Besides, he was glad, happy even that she wasn't having to deal with the situation that had become their workplace and his home life.

He sipped at his scotch under cover of the bar, watching with a fire like sensation at the glistening woman that wasn't his, laughing and dancing with the man that wasn't him. He couldn't help the gut wrench but try to drown it in alcohol. It was like watching his life go up in gasoline lit flames whilst he willingly rewound the tape of his own demise.

He could've dealt with the rest of the night, until the man tried to kiss her, out in the open, people watching and commenting silently in the cover of corners.

He watched, eyes unguarded and raw as she kissed the guy back.

_I'll wait_

_So show me while you're strong_

_Ignore everybody else_

It was like being ripped from the womb, the anger and black frostiness rose up in him, he downed his scotch, all but slamming the glass on the bar and sauntering out with a brooding swagger to the nearest exit. He ignored the silent looks from Jessica in the corner, Mike clinging to Rachel with eyes interested. They wouldn't have the balls to comment or intervene and frankly he wasn't in the mood for being open and accommodating right now. He was sure he wouldn't be missed as the doors swung shut behind him and thankful that the party was in their building. He knew he couldn't leave yet, and after a few ambled steps found himself face to face with his name in silver lettering.

It somehow felt like being slapped in the face today.

It was the one thing he had gotten himself. Yet without her help.

Without her guidance.

It was asinine, for him to be like this. He had felt so on top of his game in the last few months, calmer, more settled, but controlled and strong. Ready for a fight but not needing one. He wasn't the first one to admit that he'd changed. He could see Jessica and Mike look at him differently. He wondered idly if this was what getting older felt like, so centred and placid in a still tumultuous sea of life. And how oddly unfitting,

How it was so polarizing from the feeling coursing through him.

The way she almost glided on the glittering dancefloor, held up only by her own self confidence and the secret need to be the centre of attention for a flash of a moment; taking the dance floor as her partner and her companion merely along for the ride. He never let himself dance with her. Far too risky, a silent warning between them not to tread in the unsettled waters of their connection, let alone the parts of them they had left in the past.

His mind falls back with a heaviness to that dress, her pale skin shining against the low red christmas lights hung in drapes and swathes above their heads as the amber dances in his glass. That slight sneak of a glance towards him that tells him she's still looking out for him after the strange, more personally affected week he's had and how he may or may not be dealing with it. She is his protector to the end. He's understanding that now, whether he wants it or not she is always there.

And he's not dealing with it, any of it, instead the burning image of her, phoenix like lighting the peripheries of his mind, all the dreamy alcohol addled corners and warming them with a glow.

Before he's even taken in his surroundings he's in the men's bathroom, his hands resting palms down on the cold tile and the wall long mirror throwing his blurry reflection back at him. He squints in greeting to his own backwards self, leaning forward to judge the two moles on his face that seem darker, blended in with lines and frowned tweaks where the tension sits with a stubbornness. He rubs at his face, stepping back a foot until his back gently touches the wall, cold and solid behind his back. But he can't help it. He's not sure if it's his mind making up things or joining up the dots but he's angry again, and irrationally so, the image of her kissing the strange man, a man in such a dangerous position that only she is privy to, like so many other things…

Her lips, soft and peachy and that hair that always holds it's own in any situation. He thinks then to the column of her throat, bare and long and overly inviting. Like a promise that she meant to be broken. He wonders idly if it's all a plan, in the grand scheme of things, that she thought up one boring lunch break ten years ago, of how she'd always remind him of what he couldn't have whilst dangling herself like some beautiful gift that she bestows on him. He knows it's a dark thought, and almost completely without merit, but in the heaviness of his addled brain it seems fitting. Before he even checks himself his hand is down his pants, and into his briefs and he thinks… no one is likely to come wandering on this floor tonight. Not with the merriment and free bar freely flowing out to the masses. He has a quiet solitude here, a haven into the remembrance of a moment long passed.

But she looks the same - he doesn't, he's harder and sharper and more intense - but she's the same, her lips moist and that come hither look in her eye, like she's fully capable and more than aware of her talents. Before he's even explored the memory his hand is working a steady rhythm, the smell of her hair and the colour of her nail polish - always dark - coming in and out of his head like the waves on sand, threading his perfectly salvaged memory together.

His chest rises and falls with a purpose as he leans back, his abs clenching when he explores the swell of her breasts against his hands in their pendular form, her hips round and soft as they pin him down with a devilish intent. He remembers laughter then, playfulness and thready breaths, they way she called his name when he just touched the spot above her…

'Harvey…'

His eyes open when the door clicks shut. Or was that the lock? The light is suddenly so bright and she's so gold and copper as she stands, looking at him through the mirror, her dark polished nails gripping her black purse. He's completely void of words in the seconds where she places her purse down, a frown on her face. He starts to form a word, his hand holding himself protectively as his suit pants dance precariously on his hips. As if it happens in slow motion she's at his side, and scarily silent, her lips more red than peachy and her neck longer and more exposed in the flesh. An objection waits in pause on his lips as her hand takes the place of his and suddenly all he can think of is how warm and supple they are, his eyes closing as his mind thinks upon the absurdity of such an action. He feels her body lean into his side, her chest rising and falling with his own as her hand works on him in long indulgent strokes, testing in rhythm and with a slight squeeze that makes his body shudder in technicolour.

**_We're alone now_**

**_I'll wait_**

**_So show me while you're strong_**

**_Ignore everybody else_**

**_We're alone now_**

He thinks all at once how insane the moment is, how he feels deaf and blind and yet how beautiful and twisted around one another they are, the pressure building in his abdomen and lighting his chest on fire.

"Look in the mirror," She whispers to him, but lower, a warmer sound, her voice a ghost of their complicated past. He obeys immediately and the reward is far greater than he'd ever anticipated; her kissing his neck, molded to his side and yet backless in their reflection; that devilish look in her eye as she watches him whilst her hand beats a steady time, moments changing his attention between the picture of the two of them and the feeling of being obliterated by her. He feels the pressure start to build and build until all he wants to do is swear and curse at her and then fuck her until they're both raw and empty; a violent passion ripping into him as he watches her enjoy every last second of his demise with a grin emerging just beneath his earlobe…

**_Suddenly I'm hit_**

**_It's the starkness of the dawn_**

It comes in cold rush, his muscles tensing in the roll of a suddenly steady tide.

And she holds him to the end. He thinks she'd make a better gentleman than he ever could as she kisses his neck, her hand still loosely wrapped around him with a tenderness usually reserved for her words.

And suddenly there are a thousand things he needs to say to her, the want to take her home so strong and unbridled.

"This never happened," She whispers.

It's like a bucket of ice cold water straight to his balls.

He watches, unsure of the expression on his face, and unmoved as she washes her hands, checks her lipstick, picks up her purse and leaves quietly. Maybe back to the party, probably back to her apartment with that date of hers.

He wonders, just how long she can go on being his everything before it breaks her.

He realises then, the click was the door,

_Not the lock_, which remains unused…

**_And your friends are gone_**

**_And your friends won't come_**

**_So show me where you fit_**

**_So show me where you fit_**


End file.
